


Sippin' On Straight Chlorine

by tiredtigress



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, Episode: s05e07 Ace Chemicals, Eventual Smut, Fist Fights, M/M, Post-Season/Series 05 Fix-It, Season/Series 05 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29616144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredtigress/pseuds/tiredtigress
Summary: Set during 5x07.After his plans of recreating Bruce's most memorable night of his life didn't quite work out the way he wanted, Jeremiah has escaped to theAce Chemicalsfactory, fully intending for Bruce to follow him - possibly to continue their fight elsewhere, but maybe there are other reasons too..
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	1. Jeremiah | Part I

„ _Jeremiah! This ends - tonight!!_ “, he heard the raven-haired boy yell as he approached him up the stairs with heavy, vigorous steps.

Jeremiah could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his ears as it quickened with every step Bruce took. Adrenaline crept through his body, through his arteries up into his ears, like a rush, like a high induced by an incredible drug he hadn’t tried yet.

He couldn’t help but smile at the beautiful boy, he was even prettier being furious like that. 

„No, Bruce, now it begins“, he told him, the corners of his mouth refusing to go down again as he began walking towards him, wielding his knifes.

He’d been antsy for a fight for _days_ now, something he hadn’t ever felt before he turned.

It felt like he was ready to climb out of his skin if he didn’t get the tang of blood into his mouth soon. Craving the heavy breathing of a fight, he couldn’t stop imagining the sharp pain of a blow and the satisfaction of seeing someone bleeding on the ground as he inflicted more pain on them.  
His whole body was itching and he’d been dying to get a scratching. 

He just needed the right.. _opponent_? 

____________________

Jeremiah had never been the fighting type, he’d always been the one hiding away while Jerome had picked his fights back in the day, he’d been flinching away from pain and had always feared the outbursts of his mother’s lovers when they got too drunk and he had happened to get in the way.  
Jeremiah Valeska had spent his whole life fearing everything, trembling constantly, almost begging _not to be seen_. He’d been living in a bunker, hiding away from the world, hiding away from life.  
He’d been counting his breath, avoiding becoming too loud, _too visible_ at any cost.  
The nasty, screeching voice in his head had always told him that this would be the way he would be spending the rest of his life. Poor, little hiding Jeremiah, not even being able to take any credit for his work by his very own, real name. Even that had been taken away from him for so long.  
He hadn’t allowed himself to laugh, he hadn’t allowed himself to _love_.

 _A boy like you doesn’t deserve any kind of love_ , the nagging voice in his head had told him constantly, like a bitter lullaby serenading him night after night.  
Ecco’s affection had been there when he would get too lonely, but at first, their relationship had been mostly professional, later they had formed a stable friendship he’d been very thankful for.

After she had turned as well, said friendship had turned into something else, had turned into an unquestionable submission, always on the verge of a downright obsession.  
That was another story. Her seemingly unlimited dedication came in handy to his big plans. 

And then, there was Bruce.

Bruce Wayne had sparked an emotion in him that he hadn’t ever felt before, even if he couldn’t quite place it, before _that one bad day_ had happened. An emotion that seemed to pump blood into his depraved body, that sped up his heartbeat and made him feel dizzy when he got too close. 

He’d get sweaty and embarrassed, struggling to find his way with words - _just like the loser you are_ , the nagging voice had reminded him - and most of all, he couldn’t get the young billionaire out of his head. He wanted to know everything about him, wanted to spend as much time with him as possible, even if the voice had told him that he had to be _bothering him_ by now. 

Jeremiah didn’t care at all, he just didn’t want to lose what he had with Bruce back then.  
And almost like a miracle, it seemed to work out. They seemed to work well together and Bruce seemingly never got tired of his nerdy rants. 

Jeremiah had grown addicted to their brief touches when they hugged hello and goodbye and at night, the stolen glances he’d sometimes imagined Bruce was throwing at him serenaded him to sleep sometimes instead of his crippling self-doubt. 

He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, couldn’t name the kind of feeling Bruce had awakened in him, but he was determined not to ever let it go again. 

To gain a little more control over the mess in his head, he first had settled for considering him his _very best friend_ and you simply didn’t lie to your _very best friend_ , so Jeremiah never did. 

Well, except for one time.

When he used the words _one bad day_ while explaining the condition of his hair, skin and eyes (and overall attire too, who was he fooling), he didn’t really mean that the day had been bad.  
On the contrary, it had felt like an awakening to him.

Who’d have ever known that thanks to his overall loathsome brother, Jeremiah Valeska could feel like he could _breathe_ , for the first time in his life.

____________________

Jeremiah was ready to jump out of his skin when Bruce was close enough to continue their fight.  
The two men clashed together, Bruce already throwing punches - angry and aiming for his face - and Jeremiah had never been so happy to fight back. The blood had been thundering in his ears and fuck if all this turmoil and energy didn’t have to go somewhere.

He took another swing at the billionaire with his knife, but the black-haired boy was quicker than him and avoided his attacks easily. A couple of punches later, his knife was being sent flying over the railing into the chemicals below them. 

Jeremiah was taken aback for a second, staring after his weapon. The boy could _fight_ and hell, this exited him even more. Was there even a thing Bruce wasn’t good at? He doubted it.

The brief second Jeremiah didn’t really pay attention turned out to be a huge disadvantage for him because before he could gather himself again, Bruce was coming after him again, sending him flying backwards with sharp punches and kicks into his stomach.

The former redhead scrambled backwards, unable to hold onto the railing and falling backwards onto the unsteady ground. His heart leapt into his throat and a sudden surge of excitement flamed right through his body. He knew the position he now was in far too well, defenseless on the ground with his assailant towering over him, but this time, he wasn’t scared _at all_. 

His whole body was screaming for more, for Bruce to _get on him_ to beat him up further.  
It was actually kind of pathetic if you thought about it, but in a weird way he was yearning for a simple _touch_ , even if that came with Bruce’s balled fists and the sharp tang of blood in his mouth. He didn’t care, he just wanted him _closer_. He just couldn’t be the only one, Bruce HAD TO feel it too.

„Yes.. yess.. do you feel it? The connection between us?“, he tried, smiling up at his opponent with bruised lips. 

Bruce indeed came closer, straddled him even while punching him in the throat and Jeremiah sputtered, unable to continue his speech. 

„You do“, he tried when he could breathe again and repeatedly, Bruce’s fist connected with his jaw. The sharp pain of the punch made him see stars.

His head was spinning, he could taste his own blood and Bruce was sitting _on him_ , furious, feral and absolutely _beautiful_.

So, of course, it just couldn’t be his fault that Jeremiah’s right hand was tracing Bruce’s left thigh pretty much on its own.

„Bruce, you feel it! Tell me you feel it!“, Jeremiah panted and after another two very painful punches, Bruce stopped and gripped onto his coat. 

His dark hair was sticking up into all directions, his face torn into a grimace and he was staring at him out of dark eyes, dripping with disgust and revulsion and.. _something else_. 

Something else Jeremiah couldn’t quite place, but even if Bruce’s amazingly expressive eyebrows were scrunched up, his pupils were blown impossibly wide and his breathing came in erratic puffs, unsteadily and shaking. 

Sure, you could blame it on the fight, but Jeremiah Valeska was a master of make-believe.

„ _You mean nothing to me_ “, Bruce said.

Four simple words, but spat out with such venom that they could outdate the deadly toxins beneath them.

Jeremiah could feel Bruce’s breath on his face, on his bleeding lower lip as the billionaire came closer, too close for him to realize what he just said to him.

He could feel his bottom lip tremble and something in himself shifted for a brief second.

For the first time in weeks, he experienced another feeling that was so different from the weird but intoxicating high the spray had induced on him. 

For the first time in weeks, he felt like his old self, the self he used to hate so much because everyone seemed to hate because he had been such a freaking _loser_ back then, the self his brother had freed him from.

The self Bruce didn’t hate at all. 

Jeremiah could feel something wet dripping onto his face.

The furious expression on the billionaire’s face had faded and had been replaced with something else, a mixture between sadness, confusion and defeat.

„Where did he go? Tell me he’s still in there“, Bruce whispered with a ragged, broken voice and Jeremiah held his breath, his limbs shaking from the aftermath of the fight and the unknown feeling that was spreading through his veins through his whole body.

It was all for nothing.

If he meant nothing to Bruce, the whole attitude, his plans to take over the city to rebuild it the way he had planned it, the whole illusion he had created with Bruce in his head, believing that there had to be some kind of connection between them - Bruce just had to realize it first - would be completely in vain.

No. No, that couldn’t be true, he just couldn’t believe Bruce could really _hate_ him.

After all what he did for him, after all the times he showed to him that he was the most important person in his entire life, it just couldn't be possible.

The only person he ever.. _loved_?

Bruce’s gloved hand traced his right cheekbone, softly swiping across the forming bruise on the inhumanly pale skin.

Jeremiah’s left hand got a grip in Bruce’s hair, seemingly on its own and pulled him in.

He could taste his own blood and the salt of Bruce’s tears and Bruce’s lips against his felt soft, incredibly soft. Bruce’s lips felt clean and healing, even if they were bloody, ragged and bitten and just so soft and as they were moving against him, Jeremiah’s brain entirely shut down. 

You would’ve thought that after such a violent fight, a kiss born out of it would be a mess of clashing teeth and feral biting, bruising and unforgiving, but the kiss was soft and desperate and, absolutely loving. They were desperate for something that had been taken away from them, for something they could’ve been. Desperate to express a feeling they both couldn’t explain, a feeling they had been fighting, pushed away to the back of their minds for so long. Desperate for a second chance they both knew they couldn’t get. It was already too late.

Jeremiah had felt a strange kind of high since he had been sprayed, a high he hadn’t felt ever before, a high he had gotten addicted to, in some kind of way.

A high that had changed him, from the inside out, a high that brought out his true self, he had told himself over and over again.

A high that had given him the illusion that he could be invincible, that had given him things he’d never dared dreaming about before.

A high that had taken away everything from him that he had ever loved.

As he was kissing Bruce for what felt like an eternity, it slowly dawned on him that this was something that cancelled out all the other highs he had ever felt before. The strange, hyped up euphoria mixed with cold indifference the spray had given him couldn’t compare with the tingling heart rush of happiness that made almost impossible to breathe, the intoxicating, numbing softness this one kiss had given him. 

This feeling compared to nothing else and Jeremiah had the sinking feeling that this all would be over as soon as Bruce would come to his senses again.

When they parted, Bruce was still breathing heavily, staring down at him incredulously, unable to fathom what just had happened. 

Once more, Jeremiah felt something shift inside him, the cold indifference came striking back with an incredible force and he just _knew_ on instant that Bruce could sense it too.

Well, there _had_ to be a kind of connection. 

Bruce’s brows shot up, confused at first, but then it must’ve dawned on him what they’d just done and his entire features darkened again. 

The former redhead could sense that Bruce was contemplating punching him again and before he could do that, Jeremiah head butted him and sent Bruce tumbling backwards, away from him.

„WHY DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?“, Jeremiah yelled, furious at the loss, at the realization that what he got was already more than he deserved now, in his irreversibly altered state, and furious at Bruce for still not understanding that, after all, their connection _had to be_ real.

They were swinging fists at each other again and, fueled by the anger rising up in his throat, Jeremiah got the upper hand, pinning Bruce against the unsteady railing. 

The chemicals below them were shimmering dangerously, like a predator waiting for the right moment to attack.

Bruce gripped onto Jeremiah’s coat again, this time out of a reflex for stability, he guessed, but Jeremiah went right to gripping Bruce’s throat. The rage bubbling inside him was blinding him, poisoning his thoughts and suggesting just to _end it all_. 

_Throw them both into the chemicals below them and end it all._

„I’M THE ANSWER TO YOUR LIFE’S QUESTIONS!“, he shouted at Bruce, gripping onto his throat. He could feel Bruce panicking beneath his hands, his throat fluttering, not being able to breathe, he could feel Bruce’s hands clawing at his coat and Jeremiah cursed himself for that, but he still would’ve given anything to feel Bruce’s fingertips connect with his bare skin for just a brief second, half hoping for that they _would just move a little more upwards_ , but they didn’t. They were gripping onto his coat, clawing, pulling, shaking him.

„Without me you’re just a joke.. without a punchline“, the engineer pressed out, ready to throw the final punch to throw them both into the chemicals, but a screeching voice from below stopped him.

„Boss, do you need any help?!“

They both turned their heads to the stairs and saw Ecco standing there, holding a gun to Selina’s head - _how the fuck was the little slut even still alive_ \- and raising up another gun onto Bruce. 

„He’s mine, don’t you DARE!“, Jeremiah exclaimed, suddenly in a panic. 

It all happened too fast after that.

Bruce used Jeremiah’s short moment of inattention to free himself from his grip and swung them around, now pressing Jeremiah against the dangerously wobbling railing. 

The engineer could feel the railing slowly giving in, he could hear Selina Kyle shouting something at him, and he could see Bruce raising his fist to the final punch. 

Then he heard a gunshot ripping through the air, reaching its destination in no time.

The blow never came.

Bruce Wayne stumbled backwards, clutching his side, falling.

Dark blood fell through the holes in the platform into the tank of chemicals, a small hissing sound erupting from below them with every drop.


	2. Bruce | Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People _died_ this way, but Bruce had never thought that death would feel so _warm_.

Bruce could hear that Selina was screaming something, but he couldn’t make out the words anymore. 

He could feel that he was bleeding heavily, the hand still pressed onto his right side still felt the wound pulsating, but somehow it had stopped hurting. Warm, sticky blood was coating his hand and all he wanted was to close his eyes and to drift away.

Somehow, in his half-dazed state, he realized that people _died_ this way.  
He had a gunshot wound in his abdomen, the bullet had probably passed through some of his internal organs and the fact that he didn’t really feel anything right now had to have something to do with some major blood loss and the shock that came in handy. 

People _died_ this way, but Bruce had never thought that death would feel so _warm_.

As he realized that Jeremiah’s hands were on his face, he was still half-expecting a blow or any other kind of torture, even if this would’ve been highly unfair (but hey, this was _new_ Jeremiah and Bruce would’ve expected _everything_ from this new, cold, calculated, merciless version of him).  
Much to his surprise, Jeremiah’s hands were softly stroking his cheeks, touching his skin with soft and cautious caresses. He must’ve taken off his gloves, Bruce noticed.

The former redhead’s skin felt so, so warm against his own.

„Bruce, you can’t die like this! Please, Bruce, please, open your eyes!“, Jeremiah’s broken voice reached his ears, full of regret and fear. 

He sounded a lot like the old Jeremiah, Bruce thought and felt a small stab of pain right where his heart was, a stab that had absolutely nothing to do with his bullet wound.

Bruce struggled with opening his eyes, but when he managed, he could see Jeremiah kneeling beside him. The engineer’s inhumanly bright, green eyes were wide open in panic and filled with tears. 

When they were still working together - not so long ago - the young billionaire had always been fascinated with the former redhead’s eyes. They were so warm, so _green_ , inviting and calm and incredibly beautiful. He caught himself staring sometimes and knew that the other boy must’ve noticed, but Jeremiah never said a single word. He would just get flustered, incredibly flustered, stumbling upon his words, rambling, and his cheeks would turn crimson as he would look down, avoiding to look Bruce in the eye. It was actually kind of adorable.

But Jeremiah’s eyes had changed. Jeremiah’s eyes had gotten much brighter, now being almost translucent, alien-looking like the rest of his skin, shimmering in a sickly pale green color Bruce hadn’t ever seen before. The warmth had left them completely. 

When the engineer had informed him about what had happened on that _one bad day_ , Bruce had found himself staring back into a cold, unforgiving abyss where once Jeremiah’s warm, inviting emerald green had been, a green that had fascinated him, that had pulled him in almost magnetically. 

Jeremiah’s new green now only ever made his heart sink, something about them constantly telling him to run as fast as he could. And every time he thought that maybe, if only _maybe_ the boy he once knew could still be in there, the cold, merciless carbon copy of Jeremiah had proved him wrong, had surprised him with another, even crueler way to show his perverse kind of affection ( _obsession? who the fuck knows_ ), an affection Bruce absolutely didn’t want.

He never said it out loud, but he liked the old version of Jeremiah a lot and actually missed him terribly.  
He had considered him a friend from the very beginning and had taken an instant liking of his nerdy demeanor, his awkward fumbling and his genuine smile. He missed them working together, missed their conversations about topics he couldn’t talk about with anyone else. He missed the way Jeremiah would search for closeness, would always hug him a few seconds longer every time they greeted each other or said their goodbyes and sometimes would look at him with that adoring, mesmerized look in his warm, green eyes. 

Those damn eyes. _Bruce hadn’t even realized how much he had missed those eyes._

Ecco was standing somewhere close to them, most presumably still holding Selina at gunpoint, rambling something too, in a panicked voice. He couldn’t really hear what Ecco was trying to say, but he could make out a few words, like „only trying to help“ and „I’m so sorry, Boss“.

He watched Jeremiah tear his eyes away from him, turning towards Ecco while having a sudden outburst of anger.

„I DON’T CARE IF HE WAS TRYING TO KILL ME! You could’ve had all the fun you wanted, you just had _one_ rule to follow, _one single rule_!! How many times did I tell you that you _don’t get to kill Bruce Wayne_!! He is _mine_!!! Only I get to kill him because he is _mine_!!“

 _Mine_. That word actually didn’t sound so bad anymore, Bruce thought to himself. He could still taste Jeremiah’s bloodied lips on his own, vaguely remembering being surprised at how soft they had felt, how loving and passionate the kiss that happened a couple of minutes ago had been.

If anyone would have told him this morning that he would be kissing Jeremiah Valeska today, he would’ve declared them straight up insane, but the thought of feeling the former redhead’s lips didn’t feel as wrong as he would’ve thought.

And if he was really, really honest with himself, kissing Jeremiah had _never_ felt wrong in his head.

Bruce sighed, a sudden wave of tiredness washing over him. 

He was so, so tired and felt so warm. He just needed to.. rest a little.

The young billionaire closed his eyes and felt his head lolling aside. 

Selina in the background was shouting something again and then, many hands were grabbing him, lifting him up from the ground and carrying him. 

Bruce only heard one word loud and clearly before he finally lost consciousness. 

„Ivy“.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism are deeply required!!
> 
> Please be gentle, English is not my first language :)
> 
> Title by Twenty One Pilots, you might've guessed that already though.


End file.
